


Boss Ford

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Amnesiac Stan, Gen, Post-Weirdmaggedon, Rebuilding, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Stangst, Warning: intrusive thoughts, and fluff, but he should really realise when Stan's baiting him, ford's trying his best, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: When Ford woke up that morning, he never thought that Stan would be challenging him to run the Mystery Shack for a day.Even worse, he’d found himself agreeing before he’d really thought it through.Oh well, it couldn’t be that hard to run the Shack for just one day… could it?





	1. The Challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return! I promise there’s a lot of stuff in the works but this month has taken everything out of me and made it hard to focus on one thing. I’m hoping for a much better July!

It had started out as a regular clean-up day.

And by that he meant a normal day in general by any standard, as cleaning took up the majority of his time.

That is, when he wasn’t checking up on his family and making sure they were OK. If any one of them asked him for something, he was there in a heartbeat. It was really an even split. Whenever they needed him, he was there and whenever they didn't, his brain soured, twisted thoughts worming their way into his heart about how he had caused all of this. So instead of letting his brain dwell, he worked, the manual labour and constant need to focus on the task at hand therapeutic in the peace of mind it gave him. 

Any work that he could find to occupy himself was good work until his family needed him again.

Though 'need' may have been the wrong word to use.

Ford smiled as he remembered the night before. Exhausted from a day of trying fruitlessly to get the kitchen resembling- well, a  _kitchen_  of sorts, one of the bright sparks that kept him from drowning himself in research and whatever else he could get his hands on, pulled him by the hand and said they needed him in the living room. And without a question he had followed, the little hand in his warm and solid and reassuring in a way that she couldn't possibly know. She squashed the small lingering panicked bubble that grew and grew if he let it fester, if he didn't keep his mind occupied whenever the three of them were out of sight.

_Where are they? Are they OK? Are they hurt? Did we really beat Bi-_

And then they would appear, the bright glittering stars in the darkness and drag him back, remind him that they had won and the world had righted itself once more.

_They're safe. They're OK. Don't worry. They're OK._

Or... mostly righted itself.

Every small request had him jumping to help without question, knowing full well that both kids were as worried as he was about Stan and his ever fluctuating memories. That every call to action was in the hopes of helping him further, or calming him from a particularly rough patch, his own rage at not remembering, or a small glimpse into the past that made him panic, causing vast distress even when the image itself had long since vanished from his mind. Nightmares that were instantly forgotten when you awoke but left behind traces, blood pumping, eyes darting, trying to sort through the distorted remnants of the puzzle and figure out just why you were so afraid of the dark.

And then because of the constant vigilance, it had taken far too long to realise that he was partially wrong in his assumptions. That the kids weren't just worried about Stan but  _him_  as well, seeing more than he had ever imagined and understanding entirely why he threw himself into every activity that was put in front of him. Anything to just not  _think_. 

So when the small hand had dragged him to the living room the night before to find they had found an old TV somewhere exactly like the one Stan used to own (he remembered vaguely hearing something about 'Fiddleford' and 'the nearby dump' but hadn't really connected the items into one cohesive picture, especially when the mention of his old friend brought another wave of shame to his already full skull.) and a spread of movies borrowed from a number of friends around town, he realised belatedly that they really just wanted to spend some time together as a family. There was no need for him to be there, no problem for him to fix and it took far too long to sink into his head that maybe, just maybe, there didn't need to be. As much as his own guilt was starting to make him shy away, the kids seemed hell bent on refusing the notion, and though Stan was not quite himself again yet, his eyes had lit up when the kids had dragged Ford up beside him, happy to have him with them for the impromptu movie night. He couldn't begrudge them for that when he'd seen that expression, even if it spoke so much of all the time that Stan had forgotten if he was actually happy to see his twin, at least in his opinion. And besides, bundled up on the sofa beside his brother and with the niblings always within reaching distance, he felt more at peace than he had in a very long time.

So at peace in fact, he had fallen asleep amongst them, the warmth and the drone and the reassurance that they were safe and sound around him becoming a tranquil bubble of sleep that he just couldn't seem to resist.

But then the peace had seeped away, a chill wind whistling through as unbeknownst to him Stan took the kids up to bed one by one after they'd also fallen asleep, tucking them in and chuckling at their antics. He came back down and made sure Ford would be comfortable before leaving him to it, but the damage had been done.

Waking up alone in the darkness when he'd fallen asleep surrounded by light make his heart race, the thoughts oozing through the cracks in his mask as the world came close to slipping through his fingers again. 

It had taken checking up on the kids and Stan, all still fast asleep, to calm his shaking hands and his rapidly beating heart. But even then he knew that no amount of trying would get him back to sleep.

And so he forced it all down, made the day logical again. He'd woken up early to make a start on the clean up in one of the larger rooms, that was all. There was still a lot of work to be done, what better time to do it than when his family was asleep and would have no need for him for a couple of hours?

If anything, maybe it was a good thing. After all, he could tire himself out with work, let the kids drag him around for the rest of the day and perhaps, just perhaps, be tired enough to crash out for a full night of sleep for once.

The work would keep him busy. 

Or at least that's what he would tell himself. That the work would stop the spiralling guilt from crushing him, that it would help him to sleep without nightmares waking him at every interval they could muster.

To stop himself thinking about the gun heavy in his hand, pointed at his brother's head, with the full knowledge of what he was about to do resting heavily in between his shoulder blades-

But really, deep down, deep below all the guilt and the shame, he knew that some days when Stan looked at him with that blank stare, the one that said he was a stranger to him again, that he'd forgotten who he was  _again_ -

It bit into his core, stripped him of his guilt and anger and any other emotion, hollowed out and numb. Nothing else able to process other than the ringing remorseful words- H _e doesn't know who you are._

He couldn't deal with that look when it appeared, as few and far between as the instances were, it always blindsided him when he walked into a room, the floor seemingly vanishing beneath his feet when Stan looked up at him.

He'd do anything to not have to see that expression on the back of his eyelids every time he blinked.

And so he focused on his work, focused on restoring the Mystery Shack to it's former glory. 

Maybe if he could do that, fix the Shack together piece by piece there was hope for doing the same with Stan's memories.

He didn't know where the logic came from in that thought process but it kept him moving. Every memory Stan retained was a step in the right direction, every achievement in fixing the house back up was one too, each giving him a sense of giddy pride as the world started to stitch itself back together with just a helping hand.

Stan would thank them whenever they helped him with a memory, but Ford knew it was mostly him that deserved the praise for remembering at all.

He knew that Stan would thank him once the Shack was back as it should be, when he knew that it was his  _home_. 

But really, it was the least he could do. His small helping hand to get their small world back in order.

The kids didn't think so, Stan wouldn't think so. But he couldn't have them thanking him when deep down he felt like he'd caused it all.

Not when the ringing words of a simple ' _thank you_ ' sounded hollow, a bitter taste forming at the back of his throat, when that was all his brother had asked of him since he'd been home-

...It really was better just to focus on the manual work placed in front of him, than let those thoughts curdle and fester.

"Wow, this looks like more of a mess than when I saw it yesterday, how did that happen?"

Ford blinked up from his place on the floor, shocked that anyone was even awake until he saw the bright sunlight casting beams of light across the floor. A jolt of reproach at the comment ran through him as he turned to his grinning brother, thoughts of anything other than the moment somehow kept at bay between the shock of being interrupted and the work he'd tasked himself with. "Hey! I'll have you know I have swept,  _and_  dusted,  _and_  made sure all the doors and podiums were fixed and back as they should be and- Oh. Right. That." He looked down to follow Stan's inquisitive gaze and raised eyebrow at what had been a large empty space in the middle of the floor. Where before the museum room had been littered with exhibits, the majority of which had been pulled apart for parts during Weirdmaggedon or had subsequently broken beyond repair during the ensuing fight, it was now instead covered in a wide patchwork spread of paperwork. 

It hadn't been his intention to research, on the contrary he had fixed up each podium to how it should be and moved them to the side of the room ready to sweep the area after he'd finished. When the room was pristine he had had a moment of pride, a tranquil lull as he breathed in deep and looked at a job well done, not even able to grimace at the knowledge that most of the dirt was now on himself instead of the room.

It had only lasted a second though, a second of proud happiness swelling before he deflated at the clean and tidy room.

It just... wasn't right.

Nothing about it was right.

It was too clean, too sterile.

Too... lifeless.

The main attraction of the Shack had lost it's spark.

 _In more ways than one._  His mind had supplied but he forced the words out as soon as they arrived, even as his hands fell to his sides and his mouth opened and closed. He found himself scanning the room, trying to decide what to do next to get the  _feel_  of the place back.

It was ironic really, his thoughts rearing up to snarl and laugh at him.

After all, before Weirdmaggedon, he'd been looking forward to this moment. When his home would be his own again, along with his name, and he could get rid of all the abominations Stanley called attractions. Throw them all away and get back to the real work, get back to researching the truly amazing and wondrous instead of housing an assortment of gimmicky misinterpretations of his life's work.

But after all that? After being the cause of Stan's memory loss? After feeling like he could see every grain of sand slip through Stan's fingers as everything he'd ever known vanished from existence? As he stood there and watched unable to do anything but hope that at least Bill had gone with him?

Taking Stan back to his home, the twins so desperately hopeful that something would jolt Stan's memory. Watching them flit around him and hope against hope that there was something they could do, and he wanted to believe them, so wanted to believe in them, but knowing he had done this to them all, that their world was shattering because of him crushed his own hope into a smear across the forest floor. 

And then, to stumble all the way here, only to find what remained of the Shack was a crumbling pile of wood where a home had once stood?

Sure, the Shackbot had saved their- his life, they'd have never been able to rescue him without it, but after all that, after everything they'd been through, the thought of losing another part of Stan seemed almost unbearable.

It may have been his house, but it had been Stan's home for far longer.

He didn't want his name back, or his house back. They weren't the priority anymore.

He just wanted his brother back.

How was Stan meant to remember anything when this place didn't _feel_  like home anymore?

Stan needed all the help he could get, he was trying so hard for all of them. He needed starting blocks though, like Mabel's photos and Dippers journal entries and everything in between. Little flickers of memory sprouting from the tiniest of details, names flooding in when they all least suspected it. An old cotton shirt in what remained of the gift shop, trailing old fingers along the dusty question mark came up with the name 'Soos'. A lost dice in the living room made him smile and ask if rolling a 38 was good. A small torn up sash with the word 'hero' on it received a bright beam as he asked whose it was with an almost hopeful gleam to his eyes and quiver to his words, and was rewarded with a 'you know exactly whose it is, you were our hero before you saved the world' as he hugged it tight.

Tiny almost insignificant items bringing out details that Ford had never dreamed could be reawakened.

So what could the Shack bring back if it looked like it should again?

And so quickly he'd set to work. He hadn't even noticed the time as he brought out Mabel's scrapbook, as he littered the floor with the box of photos that had never made it in there and tried to piece together the room as it had been just before the world had fallen sideways. He struggled to retrace his steps as well, sketching out half remembered 'creatures' he had once sneered and tutted at, the ones that had made him groan and turn away in disgust even though now the names filled with their puns popped into his head at random intervals and almost made him snort at the sheer amusing ridiculousness of Stan's work.

And so his once clean sparkly floor had become a scattered carpet of papers, smattering singular pieces out in position where he thought he remembered exhibits, or photos of ones that he could map out from the walls, and the majority spiralling out around him in a wide arching circle like a whirlwind of paper with him at the eye of the frantic storm.

Anything to keep him from thinking.

"Sorry, did you need something?" Ford looked back up at his brother, rather disheartened now he realised he'd made more of a mess than actual progress. "I'll get all this paperwork tidied up and then we can-"

"I mean, the paperwork wasn't what I was intrigued by." Stan interrupted, wobbling in giant steps across the maze of paper before with a groan he sat down on the floor beside his brother, ignoring his noise of protest as he did so, in the rather large circle he'd kept clear of photos. "I kind of meant- well, that?"

Ford followed his pointing finger, giving a soft embarrassed gulp before looking away. "Oh.  _That_."

The best he could think to say was that he had at least  _tried_.

His eyes skirted the monstrosity in abject irritation, the tangled mess of wire, string and glue staring back accusing at him as if to remind him that it wasn't _its_  fault that it looked quite so bad.

After all, Ford had been the one attempting to construct it, he had no one to blame but himself that he couldn't seem to get the image in his head of Stan's display to actually work in reality, even if he knew the vague principle behind it.

_How? How did he get corn and wire to mesh together without any wire or glue showing?_ _Ugh, and why do I care so much? It's just a dumb pun anomaly! It doesn't even exist!_

He knew why, even if his frustrations in that moment bubbled up and crushed the truth underneath. 

He fiddled with another piece of wire before him, feeling more than seeing Stan's eyes boring into his hands as he worked. For a second the pressure seemed to work, the perfectionist in him focused under the sharp gaze as the wire twisted just right and the corn stayed in place.

And then promptly fell with a resounding defeated 'thwump'.

Ford groaned, head raised to the sky, as he tried to let all the building tension escape him. It was no good, he had absolutely no idea how Stan made any of these things. It wasn't like he wrote down the instructions or kept a journal. His mouth twisted disparagingly at the futile thought- what he wouldn't give for a journal of Stan's thoughts and feelings over the last thirty years, just to know what had been going through his head.

A soft chuckle made him flop his head to his shoulder, looking over at his brother with a worn out glare that spoke of the amount of time the man had spent trying to get the materials he was working with to play ball with him and failed miserably at getting their co-operation.

"Alright, alright, don't look at me like that. Just explain what on Earth you're doing and let’s see if I can help at all?"

Stan's hands raised in his defence, though his shoulders were still moving with his soft chuckles even as he tried his best to suppress them and help out. Ford's mouth quirked upwards at the motion, a weary smile curling as he watched his brother endeavour to even look at his failure of an attempted exhibit with a straight face.

_Oh well, at least you made him smile._

It was the kind of chuckles that his brother used to give when Ford was overreacting over an upcoming exam or when he was particularly proud of a joke he'd accidentally said, usually one that Ford had given him a withering look for.

As much as he always tried to keep a deadpan expression at that chuckle that rumbled out of his chest, Ford was glad to see it back where it belonged again.

"Come on, Sixer. I can't help if you don't tell me."

Ford blinked and shook himself, sitting up straight with a groan as he set about showing Stan the quick half sketch of the exhibit he remembered and the photos that showed the blurry outline of the same in the background of their niblings shenanigans. The photos almost waylaid them, both grinning at the kids in the photo, trying to come up with the most ridiculous- and yet, for the pair, normal antics to best describe what they could have been up to in each particular photo.

But soon enough Stan was staring at some new sets of wire, face entirely focused on the task with Ford watching almost enraptured by the sudden shift in his brother's temperament.

Like he too knew what it was like to work and work just so he didn't have to think.

Ford reasoned in that moment that he probably had.

A fresh twinge of shame made his heart thump painfully. There was so much he'd never even thought about his brother, hadn't even considered, before his memories were erased. It was only now that he was really taking in how much he hadn't seen, how much he'd missed through his anger and resentment. He forced the feeling down though, let it whisper and hide in the background, ready to rear it's ugly head again when he was alone instead of when he should be focusing on the serene moment with his twin.

So instead he let his mind go blank, let the steady movement of Stan's hands and the soft humming as he worked, keep him tied to the present instead of the past.

And as he did so, he watched the old exhibit come back to life again. Watched Stan's muscle memory kick in and the creature form without any help from Ford or the images left around him to guide him.

_Great. Even your amnesiac brother is better than you at this._

Ford straightened at the intrusive thought, scowling at the voice as if it was an actual person stood in front of them.

How dare it, how dare his mind even suggest such a thought.

All of this work was for Stan. It didn't matter how it happened, didn't matter if he needed all the help in the world, as long as this room went back to how it should be. 

And to even suggest that Stan was any less of the person he was because of his amnesia-

He wouldn't have anyone scorning his brother, not even- no, especially not the voices in his head.

Sure he was disappointed that he couldn't get this room up and running all on his own but that wasn't Stan's fault. And if Stan helping helped his memories-

Well then, his disappointment really didn't matter in the big scheme of things.

"I'd have thought you'd be better at this."

Ford jumped as the peace was suddenly broken, his eyes darting to Stan's confused and amused expression, obviously having stopped a while ago without him noticing. He hoped he, in turn, hadn't noticed the inner turmoil roiling as well, but he could tell from his soft gaze that he had, that he was trying to distract him from whatever plagued his head.

It was another similar look, one that settled and unsettled him all at once. The look that came out when the jokes and silliness hadn't helped Ford's fears about the upcoming exams but he was still determined to pull him back. The look that came out when the bullies had knocked him down too far and he knew that all the fighting in the world wasn't worth as much as being there with his brother and making him feel safe again.

The look that said 'I'm here, just sit with me and it'll be OK', a look he thought he'd lost all those years ago when he'd heard Stan's car vanish after he'd watched his father throw him out.

The look that had returned, far more poignant and on the surface, when his brother had answered his plea to visit him and he'd put his hand on his shoulder and tried to convey that whatever Ford had gotten himself into they could get out of together. And yet again he'd lost that expression, asking Stan to do something that at the time he hadn't realised sounded quite so callous and cold.

After everything that had happened between them, he never thought Stan would worry about him again.

He was glad to have the look back now.

"Why would you think that?" The words came out with little effort, intrigue colouring his tone as he kept himself in the conversation, letting the look and words soothe him instead of remind him of all the reasons he didn't deserve it.

Stan shrugged back, a spark of relief behind the smile as he went back to watching his hands. "I dunno, it's your house, I guess? Assumed you put all these together in the first place, that's all." He gestured towards the photos Ford had begun clipping together in a small resemblance of the room as if that made his point obvious.

And if Ford was being truthful, of course it was an obvious assumption.

So why did it leave his mouth so dry? A bitter taste forming at the back of his throat.

_It was your home for a lot longer._

"Oh I- I mean it is my house but- it was... someone else's before that."

_It's your home still. My house, your home._

He couldn't get the real words out though.

"Oh?" Stan's face scrunched up, his hands stopping as he turned to Ford in confusion. "And you left all the stuff up?"

A tense awkwardness fell as Ford's mind blanked at the questions. How did he answer that? "S-Something like that."

"So, you're  _not_  Mr Mystery?"

If Ford had thought his mind was blank before the question, he was sorely mistaken as a sudden chill wrapped around him.

There was something so wrong about the assumption that it curdled through his veins, his stomach churning at the thought.

Mr Mystery was  _Stan_ , a moniker so deeply embedded into his identity that the mere thought of taking that away from him too left a hollow pit in his stomach.

_Of course not! How could you even think-_

"No. No, I'm not." He wasn't sure how he kept his voice so level, the shake in his hands somehow kept at bay.

"Oh." Stan sat back further, his frown deepening. "I thought..."

"What-" Ford licked his lips, mouth still dry as a desert as he tried to get his train of thought back into some semblance of order. "You remember Mr Mystery?"

A mocking sneer of a laugh entered his head.

_Of course not. Not if he thought you could be him._

"Just the name." Stan hummed thoughtfully. "And... a feel I think? For the kind of person they were." 

"Nothing else?" Ford couldn't help the hopeful lilt to his voice, even as Stan's thoughtful bewilderment shifted into an irritated scowl, obviously trying his best to remember. "Hey, it's OK! I can help-"

"No." Stan's scowl abruptly vanished, eyes scrunching in a swift grin that gave Ford whiplash. "No, don't tell me. What better mystery to solve on my own that who 'Mr Mystery' is?"

"I-I guess..." He didn't mean to sound so dejected at the refusal, he was usually completely accepting of what Stan wanted or didn't want to remember on his own. He didn't ever tell him anything outright, just gave him hints, where it had taken place, how old they had been, small little half details to get the image to flicker behind Stan's eyes and for him to add to the story himself.

Stan's grin shifted into something softer for just a second. He knew that the tolls on both- no, all of them were different and that no matter how much they all tried to say that it was him that needed looking after, he couldn't begin to imagine how it must be on the other side of the page, watching him struggle through the tar like substance his mind had become. 

But they didn't speak about that, it only ended with them all shutting down whenever he apologised or tried to explain that he knew it must be hard on them too. 

So instead he distracted.

He'd found that it worked exceptionally well.

He hummed again thoughtfully, hands shifting back to the task at hand. "I guess I should have realised you couldn't have been him."

Ford felt his mind derail again. Later, when his head was back on track and he thought back on the moment, he would see it in a different light, see how Stan had kept him in the real world and out of his head. In the moment though, all he felt was lost, and slightly indignant. "Wait what?"

Stan's grin turned into a smug smirk. "Oh nothing, just the vibe I get for this Mr Mystery is- well a showman, you know? You're more of the professor type." His eyes crinkled as his smirk got wider. "More likely to hold a lecture than a crowd you get me?"

Ford spluttered, sitting up straight but Stan continued regardless.

"Actually, maybe not. The amount you write in those journals of yours, I bet you're more of a 'write down every detail' kind of guy instead of a public speaker- but don't fret, we can't all do everything."

Later on Ford wasn't entirely sure how he didn't hear the teasing tone, the utterly joking challenge that said Stan knew  _exactly_ what he was saying and how easily it would push all the right buttons to get the reaction he wanted.

Later he would wonder if Stan somehow for just a moment had remembered everything about him, including just how to irk him in that way only a sibling could.

Unfortunately, it wasn't later. 

And Ford fell for the ploy hook, line and sinker.

"I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard to give one of the Shack's tours." He straightened his glasses on his nose, frowning petulantly. "I may like writing everything down, but I'll have you know I've commanded a crowd before- on more than one occasion in fact."

"Oh yeah?"

Ford felt his hackles raise slightly at the disbelieving tone. "Yes!" He looked around the room with a scowling appraisal. "Honestly, you say it as if it's hard to lie. It's not like any of the exhibits in here had a fixed story- I'm sure I could come up with something for each one. Besides, keeping a crowd of gullible tourists entertained would not exactly be difficult-"

"Prove it."

Ford's tirade dried up sharply, his entire body freezing as warm smug victory emanated from Stan in waves. "I- what?"

"I said, prove it. If you think it's so easy then prove it."

Stan gave out a bark of laughter at Ford's shocked expression. "Come on. It'll be fun! How about tomorrow? We have enough visitors up here every day to give an impromptu tour."

That did bring Ford back out of the moment, shaking his head. "Tomorrow? We haven't even got one exhibit finished, at least give me a few days-"

"So that's a yes then?" Stan's grin turned wolfish as Ford registered his mistake. "And besides, we can rope the kids into it. I bet they'd love to help design some new attractions."

A wounded sound left Ford at that, his eyes darting over the old exhibits. "No, no- no new ones, they've got to be back the way they were."

"Please, it's not like they were amazing. Most of them look like they were made overnight." Stan rolled his eyes at the pained noise escaping Ford again. "Alright, alright, we'll do the best we can to get them perfect. Yeesh, tough crowd." He waited until Ford nodded approvingly, satisfied by Stan's agreement, even as Stan applauded himself for the victory. "So, we'll get all these exhibits back as they should be between us and you'll do a tour when we get the next load of visitors." His eyes gleamed as Ford nodded unthinkingly with him. "Perfect, so it's settled then."

"Yes." Ford nodded before pausing, his mind catching up slowly with the conversation. "Wait-"

"No take backs!" 

It took another full minutes for Ford to realise what exactly he had signed himself up for.

He shook his head a few moments later, after his mind was done freaking out, getting back into the moment with his brother and ignoring the now looming public speaking.

He'd travelled the multiverse, for goodness sake, how hard could looking after the Shack be? For one day no less!

Besides, it wasn't like they'd have everything set up by the evening as Stan seemed to think, even if he had suddenly disappeared to go get the kids help.

They might be little miracle workers but even they couldn't help fill the room by the end of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a silly little one shot idea, this got very very long. So- two parter! 8D It’s been a lot of fun, this one ^o^ just a fun little idea that then kind of got... angsty as I started actually writing it *whistles* I promise it gets cute!


	2. The Reward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And part two- I had to split it cause it got too long for my liking but I hope this is a good resolution all the same ^o^

...He really had to stop underestimating his family.

It was just safer to overestimate them, more often than not they did nothing but surprise him and exceed his expectations.

The room was fully restored to it's former glory. Sure the amount of glitter on some of the attractions seemed suspiciously out of place and one or two others seemed slightly more like actual creatures from his journals than he remembered them being, but all in all the room had found its spark again.

Quaint and odd, the Mystery Shack was once again living up to it's name.

Sure Stan was still lamenting the fact that the gift shop had no wares in it as of yet, but the museum itself was fully functional.

A fact he was happy to point out to Ford.

...Repeatedly.

Even then, though nervous, Ford had reasoned with himself that it couldn't be that hard to con some of the local townspeople that would no doubt come to check up on Stan tomorrow through a quick tour of the newly renovated room.

To better prepare himself though, and to squash the still niggling doubts that rang like warning bells in his head he had enlisted the twins to be his helpers as Stan went to relax in front of the TV, leaving only a short 'I'll wait for the surprise tour tomorrow' in his wake.

Suffice to say it had not gone well.

The kids were great sports about the whole affair. Dipper laughed at all his jokes, no matter how obvious it was that he was only doing it to keep his spirits up. Mabel was a lot more proactive, shaking her head and guiding him through every step, her twin breaking her monologues only to translate when it was starkly clear she had lost Ford entirely. It was obvious they just wanted to help and thought he was trying his best, but honestly their 'advice' was making his head spin more than before they'd started the dress rehearsal.

"No, no, no! Grunkle Ford you've gotta make it spookier! Try and make someone jump!"

"Oh, OK, so like-"

"But it can't all be scary, there's got to be some humour in it too. It's just got to be engaging, really. You've really got to grab their attention." 

"...Like a bad horror movie?"

"No! Like a  _good_  bad horror movie!" Mabel had gestured her arms wildly along with her words, as if it was obvious what she meant.

Ford had no idea what she meant.

"I think she means when something in a bad horror movie startles you and you can't help but laugh at getting caught out by it."

"I... see."

Ford had no idea what  _he_  meant either.

 _How can something be funny and scary???_    
_How can something be good and bad???_

"There's got to be something for everyone to enjoy. That's all."

"Yeah! You've got to get the crowd excited! Hanging off your every word and ready to throw all their money at you!"

"Mr Mystery always has a trick up his sleeve for skeptics." 

"Does he now."

 _How in the multiverse do you keep absolutely everyone entertained?_  
_And for that matter, how on Earth had Stan managed it? Not just once, but to keep this place open for near on thirty years?_

"So? How'd it go?"

Stan looked up from his seat on the sofa, smug smile still in place as he took in Ford's disgruntled and flustered expression from the doorway.

"The kids had... a lot of pointers to give."

"I wondered what was taking so long." Stan turned back to the TV, trying to school his face into less of a knowing grin. "Not as easy as you thought it would be then?"

"Quite." Ford sighed as he nudged Stan to move over, sitting beside him in the chair with a groan.

If he was honest, there was something about the entire challenge that was so utterly off that he was tempted to bite the bullet and forfeit now.

But he didn't know how to do that without Stan asking 'Why?' and having to somehow explain the sheer absurdity of it all. The weird bubbling strangeness that he kept having to force down so it didn't engulf him with the bitter tang of hypocrisy. 

Something about it all kept nipping at his heart, like he was doing something wrong.

He couldn't explain that to Stan though, not when he didn't know himself what the feeling meant.

"Hey, no need to look so down. Like I said, it's not your forte, that's all. You got tons of things you're good at- and I haven't even known you that long, so there's probably lots I don't know about too." Stan smiled genuinely as Ford shoved him, the barb about his memory still a sore point but at least he had gotten used to Stan's humour enough not to look at him with abject horror anymore. It still stung, deep down, when Stan said he hadn't known him long, but he could push past it, keep the conversation rolling instead of shutting down.

"I guess I just don't hold a candle to the real Mr Mystery." Ford's mouth tweaked up in a humourless smile, a soft sadness permeating the air when the person was sat in front of him and didn't even know just how much they were all wishing for him to be back to his former self.

"Then stop trying to be him."

He said it so easily, so simply and yet the sentence seemed more mind boggling than all the tips the kids had given him combined.

"I- sorry?"

"What? I'm just saying the truth, Sixer. I just said you had to prove doing a tour was easy, not that being Mr Mystery was easy." Stan shrugged, not really looking at him, his focus split between the show he was watching and Ford's slack jawed confusion. "You're  _you_ , not someone else, so do a tour that you'd do- not one he'd do. Regardless of how the kids say you should do it, either. Maybe you can't be Mr Mystery but that doesn't matter, does it?"

How could he say something that made all the tangled up half thoughts, that he couldn't comprehend himself, suddenly clear as day?

Deep down he'd known exactly why this entire charade was eating him from the inside out but he hadn't been able to put the feeling into any words other than ' _No, this is all wrong_."

He'd shouted and snarled about Stan taking his name when he'd found out he'd been using it, he'd told him in no uncertain terms to give it  _back_.

It made his skin crawl to think about taking over a part of Stan's life, even for a day, when Stan didn't even know it was a part of himself he was willingly giving away.

Stan had no idea Mr Mystery was himself. Had no idea that even though technically Mr Mystery was 'Stanford Pines' it had always been, and always would be  _Stan Pines_  plain and simple.

It just felt so wrong when Stan didn't even know himself, to try and pretend to be him.

And even when he hadn't truly understood it himself, Stan had been able to see what the problem was and broken it down into the simplest of messages.

 _Don't pretend to be someone you're not_.

Ford didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and found he desperately wanted to say something that he knew he couldn't, not until Stan remembered on his own.

_Isn't it funny that you found yourself, found a place in the world just for you when you were pretending to be me?_

All he'd do is confuse his brother saying something like that, when all his memories shifted like sand and what was left behind were tattered fragments of a tapestry his brother couldn't quite yet fit together into each cohesive image.

"I wasn't challenging you to be him." Ford came back to his senses and Stan looked perturbed where he sat, worrying his lip. "It was just some harmless fun, I didn't think you'd take it so seriously. Kind of just wanted to see..."

"To see?" Curiosity piqued, Ford couldn't let the question dissipate into nothingness even as Stan seemed to war with himself over whether to say it or not.

"I dunno. Just seemed like something we've done before. Challenging each other to do stupid things." Stan gave a cheeky though hesitant grin, one that spoke of countless worries that maybe, just maybe, he was remembering things all wrong.

When you had nothing to go on, it kind of made it difficult to balance and comprehend what could just be pure wishful thinking and what was actually real, solid reminiscence.

Fortunately, Ford saw through the look and the question being asked behind it.

 _I wanted to see if you'd take up my challenge_.   
_That's something we used to do, right?_

"If you mean did you have a habit of getting me into trouble more often than not. Yes. Yes, you did." Ford raised an eyebrow as Stan's expression grew impossibly brighter.

"I knew it." 

Ford hummed in amusement at the triumphant lilt to Stan's voice. "You sound proud of that."

"Of course I am. That's what siblings do." 

Ford didn't know why that sentence stung slightly, clawing at his chest. The words had almost been said with relief, as if Stan was worried that they hadn't been that close. Hadn't had the usual sibling rivalries and playful teasing banter and everything else that came with being close friends and irritating siblings all in one fell swoop.

He knew in hindsight that that peaceful balance had been shattered, and he knew one day Stan would relearn it. But right now he wanted to bring that closeness back to the forefront, that bridge that had been burned as they grew up.

Right now he wanted Stan to think of the good times, and everything Ford willed to desperately get back once Stan was himself again and they could properly try and rebuild the bridge together. Plank by plank, just like that first Stan'O'War they had found together and fixed back up from nothing but a shipwreck rotting alone in a cave.

Besides, Stan had been the best brother growing up and he needed to know that. 

"That they do. And in the same vein- If anyone asks about the trouble we got into as kids, I blame you for all of it."

A surprised gleeful bark of laughter left Stan. "Fair, very fair." He paused then, mischief pooling in his eyes. "Actually no, I take that back. You can't blame me for everything."

"Oh?" Ford's voice was filled with disbelieving amusement. "Go on then. What time have you remembered that was my fault and not yours?"

"Nothing in particular." Stan shook his head, humming childishly. "Just,  _you're_  the one that takes on my dumb challenges, you could always just back down and concede defeat." He prodded his brother's shoulder with another bright smirk. "I don't force you into anything, therefore you can't blame me entirely."

Ford sighed, mock long suffering. "True. A lapse in judgement on my part." He raised an eyebrow imperiously. "One that you seem to bring out more often than anyone else... Must be a sibling thing." 

If Stan's smile grew impossibly wider, Ford didn't feel the need to mention it.

Anything for Stan to be well and truly relaxed in the knowledge that, if Ford surmised correctly and he was remembering a fraction of their teenage years, his feelings on the matter, and how thick as thieves they were, were well founded.

"So?"

"So what?" Ford's eyebrows furrowed abruptly, not understanding what Stan was trying to ask.

"You gonna back down and concede defeat this time?" Stan tried to keep a nonchalant, straight face as the words left him, though his mirth was obvious in the tone. "Judge this properly or whatever?"

Ford stared at him for a few moments, as if weighing up his options when really there was only one option he really felt was open to him.

As nervous as he was about this silly challenge he'd walked into, having Stan teasing and pushing his buttons again like they were small kids goading each other was a breath of fresh air, a small chink in his armour he hadn't realised he'd been so desperately missing until it was laid out before him.

His face split into a daring grin to rival some of Stan's most mischievous ones.

"Not on your life."

"Is that so?" Stan's expression grew cocky. "Well, no blaming me whatever happens tomorrow then."

Ford snorted, rolling his eyes. "Please, I'm still going to blame you no matter what."

"Oh? You don't think you'll be able to pull off that tour then?"

Ford narrowed his eyes at the fake innocence colouring the words. 

_Don't be Mr Mystery. Be you._

At least Stan was giving him a fighting chance.

"Oh, you just wait and see, Stan." He stood up straight, snagging his journal as he did so and tapping the front cover, his thoughts spinning with the new possibilities that had been unlocked by Stan's flippant words. "I may not be Mr Mystery but I've got a few tricks up my sleeves."

Stan's eyes twinkled at the obvious agreement with his earlier statement, nodding earnestly as he settled back into what he'd been doing before Ford interrupted him.

"I'll look forward to it then, Sixer."

* * *

 

Ford didn't know whether to chalk the next day's experiences up to his thought process being so utterly right it was painful or so terribly wrong that in hindsight he really should have just conceded defeat before he ever got himself into this mess.

His back hit the wall as he looked up to the ceiling for strength, the silence around him a welcome encompassing relief as he thought more on the whole ordeal.

Route one in which he was right- Stan was entirely to blame and his judgement of situations really went out the window whenever that blasted sibling rivalry reared its teasing head. That much was obviously true.

But route two where he was also laughably wrong for thinking otherwise- the tricks up his sleeve were not as well suited for this particular challenge as he had previously envisioned.

'Well suited' meaning they were downright terrible and went right back to his first hypothesis that he really hadn't thought any of this through.

Really the more he thought about it, the more he realised there was a paradox to the entire thought process. Both ironically right and wrong at the same time in equal measures.

Either way, he blamed Stan.

That was the easiest thought process that didn't require him to think about just how badly his endeavours had gone.

Who'd have thought it would be that hard to keep a crowd of the townspeople entertained?

These people came up to check on Stan almost daily and hung off his every word, even when all he had to offer was awkward small talk with friends he obviously no longer remembered in the slightest. And yet he couldn't keep them occupied for an hour if that?

Maybe he should have asked Stan for at least a day to prepare. Ford frowned, groaning as he rubbed at his temples in irritation. He knew full well it wouldn't have mattered, no matter how much his brain tried to argue that he'd just needed more time, a better nights sleep to figure out the best plan of action. In reality, he knew he just hadn't read the room right, still partially listening to the kids advice from the day before.

He'd set out that night to find some creatures in the forest that would fit all of the twins' requirements for a good Mystery Shack tour:

Scary but somehow humourous.

Shock and awe.

A small smattering of different things to keep everyone entertained.

And above all, something to keep them all engaged.

...Instead he realised, he had done the complete opposite and by trying to please everyone he had pleased absolutely no one.

Between the stomach-faced duck and the category 1 and 2 ghosts he'd managed to coerce into helping him the night before, he wasn't sure it could have gone any worse.

Well, no, that was a lie. Dipper had tried to make him feel better by telling him about the time he brought a gremoblin into the Shack but really all that did was screech a warning bell in his head about all the things that could have gone wrong in that scenario.

He was almost tempted to rescind the offer of letting the kids keep leafing through his journals with those kinds of antics, even if there was a budding pride leaving him stunned that Dipper had even managed to catch one, let alone escape without seeing his worst nightmares.

It also made him wonder if there was any test that could be done to check whether 'reckless abandon' was a hereditary trait considering he really couldn't say he'd done anything differently over the years.

And that wasn't even mentioning Stan's behaviour.

He didn't understand. Ford sighed again, hitting his head back against the wall. The ghosts weren't scary in the slightest, in fact he'd hoped that they would class as the 'good bad horror movie' vibe that Mabel had requested. But instead some of the patrons had freaked out at the thoughts of the afterlife, questions he didn't actually have any answer to what with the unlimited multitude of differing concepts he had come across on his travels around the multiverse.

He'd also decided that, whilst gross, the duck was a rather fascinating and mind boggling specimen.

...No one else agreed with him on that matter.

He was lucky that Soos had been able to calm down the now gagging and close to panicking townspeople. Lucky that he had been given an escape route to flee through as Soos stepped up and took them on a tour himself, filled with a mix of Stan's script that had plainly been memorised and his own small quirks that came from years of listening to the tourists themselves.

No wonder Stan only ever showed them fake attractions and not the real thing. Who'd have thought that most of them didn't actually want to see the extraordinary up close and personal?

Though perhaps Mabel was right, stood at the sidelines as Ford gave the pair a pleading look for help as all hell broke loose. 

After Weirdmaggedon, maybe a lot of them were just a _little bit_  mystery'd out. 

Or maybe they had never come for the mysteries at the Mystery Shack in the first place and had come more for the owner and his showman's smile that could sell you something you definitely didn't need for far too high a price and you'd go home thinking about how good a deal it was.

Just like now, when though all those who knocked asked if the tours were back up and running yet, Ford knew the real question was  _'is Stan Pines back yet?'_

What had he been thinking taking up this challenge? No one wanted to see him.

No one wanted to see the guy who had done this to their-

"You forgotten where the door is?"

Ford blinked, thoughts of horrified, pale green tourists slipping from his mind as a good-humoured voice echoed from the room behind him. "I'm sorry?"

"Just sounds like you're trying to come through the wall, thought maybe you'd forgotten where the door was."

Ford poked his head around the kitchen door frame, eyes narrowed as his brother pottered about, a quirk to his lips that said he was trying his best not to laugh. "I thought I was alone actually."

"Alone to freak out about what just happened? Cause believe me I can hear your thoughts from in here." Stan shrugged. "Besides, I thought they were pretty neat actually." 

"Yeah?"

He scrunched his nose up, still not really turning round. "Well, other than that- category 1 ghost? That one was just irritating. I didn't think ghosts could be that irritating." He finally glanced over at Ford, pointing at him. "I don't know how it works, but don't ever let me become one of them, you hear?"

A surprised bubble of laughter left Ford in that moment, the ball of tension in his throat relaxing ever so slightly. "I'll do what I can."

Stan nodded, satisfied. "Good."

"Although... you are quite irritating yourself."

"Hey!"

More laughter escaped him at the indignant grumble from Stan, the outside momentarily forgotten until a smattering of 'ohhs' and 'ahhs' from the other room reminded him of just how poorly he'd done. He groaned with defeat, flopping into one of the kitchen chairs with a dramatic flourish that Stan seemed to struggle not to comment on.

"Well, I guess just cause I liked 'em doesn't mean they were to everyone's tastes."

Ford nodded in disappointed agreement, rubbing a hand under his glasses to scrub at his eyes, as Stan sat down next to him. "Clearly."

"Ehh, everything turned out all right in the end. The kid's got everything under control." 

Ford rested his head on his hand, elbow on the table as he watched Stan's face flicker between pride and confusion, clearly not sure why he felt quite so warm about Soos's success. "You think he'd make a good Mr Mystery?" 

"Hmm." Stan hummed thoughtfully, mouth twisting downwards as he thought about it. "Maybe. With a bit more practice." He slipped a drink in front of Ford without a word, face far more open and less joking than Ford had imagined. "So what happened?"

Ford snorted derisively, raising an eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Like I need to tell you."

"You don't need to, but I want to know what you think happened."

"I dunno- the kids think maybe it's a bit too soon for any horror after what happened a week or so ago." Ford waved his hand at Stan as he opened his mouth, his expression saying that even he knew that much. "I know, remember? Lapse in judgement whenever you challenge me to something. Didn't think it through." He rubbed at his face again, a twisted smile on his face. "I dunno, I didn't understand the kids' advice yesterday but I still tried to follow it. Scary but funny, engaging, make sure everyone's entertained." He waited for Stan to speak but when nothing happened he sighed, raised the drink in a small semblance of a grateful salute before hiding behind it. "I dunno. I don't know how y- he did it. I guess you were right, it's not my forte."

"Please, I'm never right about anything." 

Ford frowned, turning quickly to his brother who just shrugged teasingly.

"What? I can't remember what happened last week, let alone anything important. How on Earth would I know what you're good at or not?"

Ford's frown deepened. "I'm pretty sure what I just did proves you right-"

"You're right." Stan hummed, cutting Ford off in his tracks. "I guess it does prove me right- you're no good at being Mr Mystery."

"I- wait, I wasn't trying to be-?"

"Weren't you? Why did you get those particular things from the forest?"

Ford sat up straight, irritation at being interrupted again and again blossoming. "Because the kids-"

"Told you to? Why's that?"

"Cause that's what a Mystery Tour should be like."

"No. That's what one of  _his_  Mystery Tours was like."

Ford sat staring at him for a moment, the cogs in his head visibly whirring as the dots connected. "...Oh."

"Now, he gets it." Stan raised his hands up in a gesture of gratitude, but Ford didn't know what to, as he shook his head. "Stop thinking about what a tour should be like and just go with your gut on what you think people would like to see."

Ford huffed, staring into his drink as his thoughts soured. "I mean that's what I did do, from the kids advice. They didn't tell me to go get those particular anomalies."

"Oh, for the love of- where's that book of yours?" Stan held his hand out, gesturing impatiently. "Come on, I know you've got it on you. You always do. Let's go through it together and make a list of things that would be good as an exhibit and why they'd be good."

"And what in your opinion then would make them good for an exhibit?" Ford held out the journal with a small amount of trepidation. He'd ripped out the Bill pages, just in case curious eyes found their way in there, but still there was a small niggling worry that unlike Mabel's scrapbook, the book's contents could spark a painful memory he didn't want to be the cause of for his brother.

Stan, however, seemed to have no such worry, humming thoughtfully as he flipped through the pages. "Something not too outlandish. The tourists we get up here kind of seem gullible, I mean those attractions we made yesterday? Hardly master craftsmen are we? And yet from those old photos they lapped up the old exhibits. My guess is when Mabel said 'Scary', that any number of silly loud noises in the middle of a story could have made them jump, let alone an actual prankster poltergeist like you gave them today." He winked playfully before zoning back into the book. "So something not too much, something fun considering we all could use some of that right now, and harmless 'cause you never want to actually hurt a customer, that gets you bad rep." 

"Are you saying I should just stick to the fake anomalies?" Ford couldn't think of anything quite so bland from his journal. 

_What counted as too outlandish when you studied creatures no one thought existed?_

"No." His expression turned frustrated as he shook his head. "Just that- you were trying to make an impression today. You threw them all in at the deep end. You just gotta take it slowly, build up to the weirder things." He shrugged after that, putting the journal down on the table before leaning on his palm. "But this is just what I think, what about you? You think the townspeople can handle half the stuff in your diary here?"

"It's not a diary." The automatic response came out before anything else, making Stan smirk at the sudden grumble. "But true- there's a lot in there that wouldn't make a good tourist attraction." 

"Exactly." Stan smiled proudly, glad to be getting through to him. "And at least I'm not biased at all."

"Sorry?"

"Well, I don't know who Mr Mystery was, so I'm just telling you what I think would work for you. You like solving puzzles and explaining things to people. Find a creature in here that you know a lot about that people will be interested to see. You like facts and figures, not made up stories, so use what you've got to your advantage."

And wasn't it ironic? That Stan was trying to help Ford give his own tour, his own spotlight in the Mystery Shack, one that had nothing to do with Mr Mystery, when really he was giving him all the advice he had learned over the years?

Ford wasn't about to complain though. For some reason a fire had ignited in Stan, one that wanted to show Ford that he could do everything and anything he set his mind to and that even if it was a challenge between them, he was going to help him every step of the way until he was successful.

It was like being a kid all over again, when challenges were more to bolster one another than actually prove the other wrong.

"Alright." Ford moved his chair closer to Stan's so he could look over his shoulder. "The kids idea didn't work, and my own choices on what would be interesting to people went down in flames- so what would you suggest for tomorrow's tour?"

Stan practically beamed at him, happy to help as his eyes scoured through the book, tracing creature after creature until he paused on a page and turned it to Ford. "Are these easy to find?"

Ford played with his glasses, squinting to be sure that he was reading it correctly. "Very, They're dotted round the entire glades around here. I'm sure the townspeople have seen them bef-."

"Then this one."

"This one? Really?" 

"Yeah, no throwing people in the deep end, remember? Start with something that's at least vaguely familiar to them."

Ford's face scrunched up in confusion, taking the journal back from Stan to read over the page. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be. You've tried the other ideas, why not try this one?"

"Hmm... I guess it's worth a shot."

* * *

 

_"That reminds me, there's one thing though that you definitely shouldn't do."_

Out of all the things Ford thought the crowd would find interesting, this had not been it.

Then again, he had endeavoured to start overestimating his family and Stan's latest idea was no exception to how his doubts at the beginning were completely unfounded.

He'd never have thought that people would actually be fascinated by the little, fluttering, glowing creatures he had managed to catch in small, now colourfully painted jars courtesy of the niblings, and yet here they all were with big wide eyes and soft gleaming smiles.

He'd forgotten what it felt like, the first time he'd come across them himself. How exuberant he had been to finally see one, to know that they existed, but soon he was encountering them almost every day he wandered into the forest and quickly he'd forgotten that first shining gleam of wonder.

Just another ordinary creature in the woods.

He'd forgotten that to most people, they were still very much a fairy tale.

Even then he'd wondered if they were too tame, too small, too childish but both adults and children alike kept being pulled back to the circle he had around him, eyes focused in awe at the small flickering creatures that adorned the table in front of him. Even the teenagers who were trying their best to seem unaffected kept shuffling back, the soft warm gleam of the room a relaxing salve to the wounds gained from the events of the last few weeks.

He didn't know how, but somehow Stan had given him a way to help with everyone's healing process.

And wasn't that a warm feeling stitching him back together that crushed the sharp snagging voices that he'd caused all of this? He was so busy trying to help in any way possible, he hadn't even thought that he was allowed to be himself and heal himself while doing so.

Not to mention it also helped when not one person acted like it was his fault even though they all knew what had happened. Not one person snarled and pushed him away, for taking their Stan away from them, knowing full well that they were all trying their best to bring him back.

No, all in all, he wondered whether Stan had come up with the challenge just to get him to stop throwing himself into work so that he didn't have to think. Whether he had noticed the signs and needed Ford to realise he couldn't do everything alone or because really, all of them just needed a break to carry on moving forward.

Something fun, something that stopped them thinking about what had happened recently and what the future might hold.

Kept them all in the present, spending time with one another and doing what they could to just enjoy the moment.

Making the most of the last few days of summer.

A small persistent hand raised in front of him, a small face filled with questions making him giddy with the thought of a curious child wanting more information. "Yes?"

"Why are you calling it a pixie?"

"Because that's what it is?"

"No, it's obviously a fairy."

_"Don't argue with an eight year old who says it’s a fairy."_

Ford shook his head, smiling brightly. "It's not a fairy, fairies are wildly different creatures." He thought back on his earlier spiel of the creatures, the overloading titbits of information he had given the crowd as he picked up one of the jars to examine it more closely. "Though I guess, when you think of old children's stories, these are actually much closer to what a stereotypical fairy should be, what with the-"

"So, it is a fairy then?" Ford glanced down at the victorious girl before him.

_"You may think you will win but you will not win that argument. Trust me, Sixer."_

"... I guess with that kind of argument, yes?" Stan's words from the day before rang in his head as he bit his lip to stop the outpouring of fae knowledge fizzle out. Instead he tried another approach, an idea forming as he smiled agreeably. "But really, they just prefer to be called Pixies."

"Oh, OK." And with that the kid was gone, nodding thoughtfully as she left the crowd to go find her parents and leaving Ford completely nonplussed to that having actually worked.

"Wow, looks like you did prove me wrong, Sixer. You  _can_  win an argument against an eight year old."

Ford snorted as his brother sidled up beside him, clapping him on the shoulder warmly. "I'm not sure I won it so much in actual knowledge against semantics." 

"Hey, the kid got the message somehow, that's the main thing." Stan picked up one of the jars himself, spinning it around with scrutiny. "You think we could sell these as pets at all? We could make a fortune."

"As much as I admire your thought process, I think a lot of parents would bring them back once they started being their mischievous selves. And besides-" He wiggled his fingers at him, the brightly coloured plasters adorning them another present from Mabel. "They bite a lot." 

"...Pity." 

Ford raised an eyebrow as Stan hummed, putting the jar back down, though the smile seemed at odds with the disappointed sigh of a word he'd released. ""You don't seem that upset. What's gotten into you?"

Stan shrugged, a bashful sheepish look overtaking his features as he looked around the room. "I dunno, it's just nice seeing the place filled with people again, you know? It's such a big place, it's felt weird with only a few of us here most of the time." A voice from nearby called out to him, making the sheepish look blossom into a more self-conscious but proud smile. "That and it turns out I'm kind of good at this whole touring thing, you know?" Ford had noticed his brother moving around with his own group, people intermingling from the centre where Ford stood and off to Stan wherever he was in the room. He hadn't realised Stan had actually been talking about the exhibits, just assumed that as usual people were going to check on him, see how things were going, too busy passionately rambling about the pixies to really take notice of the rest of the room. Stan clapped him on the shoulder again, leaning in conspiratorially as he whispered before pulling away to rejoin his small tour group. "Though maybe they're just humouring me, I wouldn't put it past them."

Ford watched him start to walk away with a small smile before he couldn't resist blurting out exactly what he was thinking. "I don't know, Stan." He waited until his brother turned back, a question on the tip of his tongue that Ford overruled. "I think they're just happy to see Mr Mystery's back in action."

Stan's expression shifted into a myriad of emotions in a blink of an eye that Ford wished he could have caught on camera. Utter confusion and gnawing doubt flickering to bubbling shock and beaming pride before settling on disappointed irritation peeking through the sunny happiness that had been brought up by finding something he was good at.

"Hey! You weren't supposed to tell me!"

Ford laughed, a gleaming bright sound that fluttered through the room and made the atmosphere all the warmer.

They'd get there. The shack, Stan's memories, everything and everyone would get there.

They just needed to let each other help along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. had. far. too. much. fun.  
> Honestly, sibling banter is so great. Like I could not resist them just having mock arguments vs all the real ones ♥ Just all the ‘i didn’t say it was your fault- i said i was going to blame you’ that comes with siblings haha!  
> Anyway, this was where the story was meant to go before I got distracted in writing the intro ^o^ I hope it was worth the wait x


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